Carrying my lukewarm coffee in my sweaty hand, I've been traipsing through a tangle of vines, spider webs, and sandy trails for hours, all the while being pummeled by wind, sand, and salt water. Let alone the jarring screech of vagrant roosters, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the stunning shoreline we're following, the dramatic cliffs, and jaw-dropping views. While my thoughts mimic the path of a shooting star, trailing off in unexpected directions, I'm beginning to think salt must be the secret to the universe, as in sweat, tears, and the vastness of the ocean.
Does that sound like we are going for coffee to you?
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Here's what went down.
Coffee is actually Larry's way of getting me out of bed in the morning. A worthy reason, in my opinion. We've been waking up around 5:30 am since we landed on the Garden Island of Kauai less than a week ago. We may have gained 3 hours, but the time difference comes with consequences, and it does not care that we are retired and would prefer waking up around 7:00 am local time, regardless of where we are.
Just about every morning after dusting off our crapy hotel room coffee, Larry suggests we walk a thousand steps to the shopping center behind our resort, and buy a real cup of joe from the company with the mermaid logo.
This morning, things went south (literally) for no other reason than The Larry Factor.
After securing two large coffees, Larry says, "Let's walk between these condo establishments. I want to see how they are set up."
Curious, I say, "I'm game. A short walk would be nice. What else do we have to do?"
"We'll be back in no time."
Famous last words…
Behind our resort, and in between me and a strong cup of coffee, is a huge multi-building condo association (10 -15 buildings) that extends for miles along Poipu Beach. It is lined with dozens of ancient shade trees that are perfectly groomed as if by a bonsi God. Many of the trees are dressed in lush vines, with parasitic flowers growing from their massive trunks. If that's not extraordinary enough, nestled on the property are hidden orchid gardens, coy ponds with miniature waterfalls, and cati displays that would take your breath away. There is no denying the spiritual allure of this place unless you're Larry, of course, and just decerning the layout.
My senses are on overload, bombarded with wave after wave of potent thoughts, and all I want is a computer so I can lay them out and decipher their deeper meaning.
I'm like a kid in the Garden of Eden, but unlike Eve, I know I won't have access to this paradise in less than a week. I'll admit to hugging several of the trees as we strolled through the property, exchanging greetings with the flowers, and imagining what it would be like to actually stay at a resort like this. I'd be nothing less than prolific.
So we follow a maze of paved pathways through several of these unique developments, becoming more intrigued by this beautiful and well-maintained establishment. When we approach the resort's end, we notice that the path extends across the street, snaking through a plush housing development.
I'm wondering what the hell these people do to afford such extravegant estates on Kauai, only a few hundred yards from the Pacific Ocean. We're so enthralled with the houses that we don't notice how far we've walked.
The path comes out at the Hyatt, which is sprawled along the most beautiful beach in the world.
Larry says, "Let's take the path a little further."
"How much further?"
"Like you say, what else do we have to do?"
I mutter under my breath, "Contemplate the meaning of life under that shade of a banyan tree sipping a mai tai with a computer in my lap?"
He gives me the look.
We trudge onward.
It's actually quite nice walking on a paved path along the beach. The waves are crashing, and people are sunbathing, building sand castles, or surfing the huge waves. It's pleasant.
Then the paved trail ends, but Larry keeps going, and now I've decided the meaning of life is simple: stay on the path, keep going, and don't fall.
A few miles in—yes, you read that right—I'm sweating like a dog, cold coffee sloshing across my hand, and my luminous thoughts have gone awol.
The almost nonexistent trail becomes a jungled path, with me ducking under vines, struggling up slippery rocks, and practically jogging to keep up with George 'Billy Goat' Woodard (aka Larry).
He looks back at some point and yells, "Follow me. I think there's a ranch up ahead," and a distinct but formidable memory of hiking in Kauai a decade ago surfaces. The story slowly comes back to me with vivid imagery and frayed emotions. We did this same hike when I was in my early fifties and ended up exploring the depths of some haunted caverns and a decidedly questionable tortoise farm.
This time, we pop out of the jungle at a horse ranch instead of the opening of a cave (which Larry entered uninvited) and watch several riders preparing to take the horses down to the beach. The animals are beautiful and strong. I could watch them all day, but now we have to figure out how to get back to our neck of the woods.
Larry says if we take the road around, it's only a few miles back to the Hyatt resort.
Only a few miles. I'm searching desperately for an Uber, but there are none available. Remember, it's hot and humid, and we have no water.
When we finally reach the Hyatt, with me taking up the rear, I'm sore, parched, and exhausted. We step into the cool resort, reach for a plastic glass of cold, pineapple-infused water, and sit on their beautiful balcony overlooking the ocean. I don't think I can move.
Larry says, "Just another mile or two to our place."
"I'm staying here tonight."
He thinks I'm being funny? He says, "Let's go. I want to go to Bubba's for lunch."
Of course, he does.
We've been relaxing on the gorgeous shores of Kauai for a week. We spend most of our time hiking, eating, watching stunning sunsets, and sipping mai tais at the Lava Bar. It's been fabulous. We met up with Rich, a buddy from Larry's college days, and Therese, his beautiful wife, to catch up on life and enjoy a good meal. They've been living on Kauai their entire marriage. Rich was born here, and they've carved out a unique but extraordinary life for themselves.
In other news, I turned another year older this week and, hopefully, a little wiser. We celebrated the day of my birth with a fabulous dinner at the infamous Beach House. Every damn thing I put in my mouth was delicious, from the lobster pasta to the rib-eye steak, homemade bread, and deviled eggs. It really was an exquisite dining experience.
Almost every evening, Larry and I land on a small patch of grass with inviting Adirondack chairs, right on the edge of the world. For an hour or so, we watch the sunset, the surfers, and the crashing of the waves while sipping a chilled Sauvignon Blanc. It's a mesmerizing experience.
Maybe the meaning of life is more concrete than I've contemplated on our challenging eight-mile hike. I think I may have the question backward. What if the meaning of life is us—our curiosity, our passions, our way of being in the world is what matters most? It's how we define, discover, and secure our own happiness because you sure as hell can not define happiness for anyone else. Right?
We spend most of our lives working. It's where many of us find purpose and meaning. But I wonder if it's freedom that people fear most—the unknown, the dark cave, if you will, and the intense ambiguity of unmitigated time.
What the hell do we do with it?
Sometimes, I think the modern world has not only depleted our attention spans but dampened our curiosity and our ability to sit with our own thoughts without fear.
We're only here for a short amount of time, and ours is quickly dwindling.
Am I happy?
I suppose that is the primary question for all of us, maybe the only one. Arranging our own happiness is time-sensitive, individualized, and unique to each and every one of us.
This is our real work. To savor the coffee, walk the path step by step, live on the jagged edge, enjoy the views, dare to explore the unknown, slick with sweat, licking the salt from our lips, knowing everything we do either strengthens or weakens who and what we are becoming.
I'm Living in the Gap, looking forward to a five-hour flight and catching up on your posts. Join me in the comments.
PS While we were at The Library for dinner our last night, the guy sitting next to us at the bar leaned over and said to Larry, "Has anyone ever told you you look like Mel Gibson?" Can we just offer up a collective groan? He was swaggering the rest of the evening.
PSS: Fifteen seconds after our flight took off from Kauai, there was a loud bang accompanied by a big bump. The pilot immediately turned around and returned to Kauai. At least five fire trucks were surrounding the plane when they asked us to deplane immediately. Scary much? We were rescheduled on another flight later today.
PSSS: Here's my current reality.
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